Sunday, 27 March 2016

Life on the other side..

Remember that time, when you were little and your mum came up to see you because you couldn't sleep?  How she told you to close your eyes and not to worry; to think about all the nice things you'd done that day, and all the wonderful things you'd do tomorrow? And how she seemed to have all the time in the world and nothing she'd enjoy better but to spend it with you?

Bloody hell, it's a different view from the other perspective in this scenario.

"Don't worry, darling."  (Translation: Please, will you just GO TO SLEEP!)
"Just rest your eyes..." (Translation: Maybe if you close your eyes, I can sneak out and put the kettle on...)
"Of course mummy will stay..." (Translation: you've got five minutes, kiddo)

I was reminded of this fact particularly today as we prepared for the boys' birthday party.  They were up at 6.  The party was due to start at 3.

That is the definition of A LONG DAY.

And I found myself, by the time the hour approached, feeling almost as stressed as I did before my university exams.  Why?  I have no idea - I think I just wanted it to go well.  Where is a tranquiliser when you need one? 

Worse, during the course of the morning, three of the six guests ran up with a sickness bug.  Luckily, F (the girl both boys are completely obsessed with (yes... at four years old)) still turned up.

So in the end, it wasn't too bad.

But it was interesting thinking about the contrast between their day and mine.  And how they probably thought mummy was just as excited as them.

My social media (you know, the website that cares about your memories) flagged up a photo today.  It was of me holding a newborn Timmy, smiling despite the stitches.  I flicked through and saw the first pic ever taken of Joe.  Both boys did so well for twins, but were smaller than any babies I'd seen in "real life" before - born at 36+1, Timmy was 6lb1 and Joe 5lb4.  Timmy needed oxygen at first; both were in special care for the first 12 hours as a precaution.

I'll never forget how light they felt when I held them - fragile, like baby birds.  Joe, especially, broke my heart: he had wires hanging through his little babygrow so they could check on him periodically for the first little while.

Now looking at the storming, cheeky 4 year olds they've become, it's impossible not to feel lucky that they are thriving.

I'll remind myself of that next time I get pre-playdate stress, or get tired of bouncing on the trampoline.

And I'll try to keep my pesky inner monologue in check.


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